New Game, New Pain
by BeautifulllDisaster09
Summary: Sebastian Moran uses a certain John Watson to persuade Sherlock to come back from the dead. How does John cope with his torture and finding out that his best friend is still alive? Post-Reichenbach SH/JW in later chapters. WARNING: VERY MATURE CONTENT!
1. Lost and Found

DISCLAIMER: I do not own. Any recognizable characters belong to the BBC!

WARNING: Explicit Scenes throughout story, extremely violent torture, and rape. If this bothers you this is not the story for you. RATED M FOR A REASON

SUMMARY: Sebastian Moran wants Sherlock to tell the world that he is alive. Sherlock refuses. Moran uses a certain John Watson to _persuade_ Sherlock otherwise. How does John cope with his torture and finding out that his best friend and flat-mate are still alive? Post-Reichenbach **SPOILERS**

Chapter One: Lost and Found

John Watson was lost, in every sense of the word. It wasn't just that he was alone, because he had been alone for most of his life. This alone was different. _Harsher._ Because this time he was alone after having it all. _Everything._ It was like an enslaved man gaining freedom just to be enslaved again after only just tasting that sweet liberty. It was painful. He couldn't even say the name anymore.

_ Sherlock._

Sometimes, he would see a tall man in a gray coat and allow himself to hope just for a moment, just to have that hope smashed, leaving only a gaping hole in his soul. His therapist suggested that he talk about it to someone. But the words always seemed to get stuck in his throat. She also suggested moving out of 221b Baker Street. But he couldn't do that either.

At first it was too painful to even enter their flat on Baker Street, but now it was like his Sanctuary_._ He never moved anything of his late flat-mate's; kept it all exactly as it was when the man had – left.

_Left._ That was easier to contemplate than "died." John knew somewhere in the back of his medical-filled mind that he was in denial and had been since that horrible day. Sherlock Holmes could not die. It was nearly unfathomable. The man was simply too clever and too damned stubborn for that. So, John left the flat exactly as it was for whenever his flat-mate decided to end the charade and come back home. He had even texted his friend from time to time.

_We're out of milk – John_

_ Haven't heard you playing your violin in a while. You okay? – John_

_ For goodness sake, Sherlock! This is getting ridiculous! Come home already! – John_

_ My limp is back – John_

And it was back. It had gradually made an appearance about a month after his best friend had jumped. And how he hated it! More so now, because he knew the cause. He needed some danger. He needed it desperately. He needed Sherlock desperately. Little did he know that he was about to receive his wishes in the most unconventional way.

_One Month Later…_

Sherlock Holmes was not surprised easily. As a matter of fact, he prided himself on his ability to remain stoic and calm even in the most uncomfortable situations. However, there were a handful of people who had taken him by surprise. Until today, that list only had three names on it: John Watson, Irene Adler, and Jim Moriarty. Today, the name Sebastian Moran made its appearance on Sherlock Holmes' most-shocking-people's list.

The man that Sherlock had been after, Sebastian Moran, or as his friends knew him, Seb. The man had caught up to Sherlock despite the latter's exhaustive attempts of escape. Seb had been trying to get Sherlock to go public again – make it known that the only consulting detective in the world was not dead. Sherlock, of course refused – it put his friends, and more importantly, John, in too much danger. He would not let himself be exposed until he knew he could take down the rest of Moriarty's crime web, including, but not limited to, Sebastian Moran.

Sherlock's refusal did not sit well with the sharp-shooter, Moran. So, Seb hunted the man down. And that was how Sherlock Holmes had found himself in his present situation: chained, freezing, gagged, and alone in a dark holding cell. And thus, how Sebastian Moran had surprised the great Sherlock Holmes.

The door in the corner of his cell opened and Sherlock squinted at the sudden light that flooded the dark cell. _Daylight._

"Well," Seb cooed as he sauntered slowly into the room. "Sherlock Holmes. I'd ask you how you were doing, but I have a feeling that you're a little tied up at the moment."

He took the gag from Sherlock's mouth, who promptly spoke.

"Is all this really necessary, Seb? Isn't this a little dramatic?"

"Well, I told you before, Sherlock," Seb sneered. "I _always_ get my way."

"Oh, so you're still upset that I won't go public? I still don't see how chaining me up is necessary. If you are planning on filming me and showing the world that I have returned, it is completely possible to do so _without_ chaining me to a wall."

Seb chuckled, darkly. "Oh, you had your chance, Sherlock – to, what is it? Come quietly?"

"So what now?" Sherlock sighed. This was all very dull. "You're going to torture me until I consent? Good luck."

"Oh, I won't need luck. I already have the upper-hand."

Sebastian pulled a remote from his pocket and pressed a button, making the wall opposite Sherlock slide open to reveal a thick window to the room on the other side. Through that window, with his back to them, stripped naked and hanging from chains that dangled from the ceiling, was John Watson, his back already lined with angry red welts from a recent thrashing. Panic shot through Sherlock. His wracked his brain, frantically looking for ways out; a way to save John. _How? _He came up with nothing.

"Okay," he choked out. "What do you want?"

"Oh, no, no," Seb chuckled. "No, Sherlock. As I said before, you had your chance. But, now, you've frustrated me, Sherlock. So, I am going to have a little fun."

"Fun?" He voice sounded strained, even to his ears.

"I am going to let you down now," Seb informed him. "And you aren't going to try anything stupid. Because, if you do, your pretty little army doctor in there will die."

Sebastian unchained him and headed for the door, Sherlock's eyes following his every move.

"Oh! I should tell you. You will be able to see and hear _everything _that happens in that room." He nodded his head toward the room with John. "He, however, will not be able to hear _you._ He _will _see you though. An excellent way for him to find out that you're alive, wouldn't you say?"

With that, Sebastian Moran left the room, only to reappear in John's room, and all Sherlock could do was watch, helplessly as the sadistic bastard headed toward his only friend.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I know it is a horrible cliff hanger but it'll keep you reading, right? R&R s'il vous plait! Next chapter will be up soon! Ta!


	2. Bittersweet Reunion

DISCLAIMER: Still do not own

WARNINGS: Torture scene. This is probably the most mild torture scene we wil be experiencing in this story, but it is still pretty bad. RATED M FOR A REASON!

Chapter Two: Bittersweet Reunion

John Watson was not having a good day. As a matter of fact, he hadn't been having a very good month. After being randomly abducted from Baker Street and tied up and beaten and blind folded and thrown into the back of a van, John could honestly say that being chained up in a holding cell and tortured was almost over-kill. In the weeks following his abduction, he had been whipped repeatedly and then healed and then left in his cell for hours, just to do it all over again the next day.

At first John had been defiant; the soldier in him standing out. However, he soon learned that the bravado and threats he shouted during his torture sessions just made them last longer. He soon learned that it was better just to let the beating come and go as fast as possible. At least he had some danger in his life again, he supposed. It wasn't exactly what he had been referring to, but he supposed he shouldn't have been careful what he wished for.

Sebastian had promised John that today would be, by far, the most painful session, thus far. To which John had muttered something terribly witty, like, "Oh, joyful day…" But no warning could have possibly prepared him for what was going to happen today.

Seb stalked up behind John, which was something John was beginning to hate; the feeling of someone's breath on the back of his neck and the helplessness of not being able to see what was coming. "Johnny, Johnny, Johnny," he cooed. "Are you ready to be thoroughly entertained?"

"Do I really have a choice?" John croaked out, his voice raspy from lack of use and lack of water.

"No," Seb chuckled. "I suppose you don't, Dr. Watson."

Seb brought a riding crop out of his belt loop and stroked lightly along John's spine before raising it high.

_CRACK_

The first strike was always the worst and this time was no different. John clenched his jaw to prevent himself from crying out. He knew he would cry out eventually, but his pride made him resist, if only for a little while. And then, before he had a chance to regain his breath, the sadistic Moran let into him, bringing the whip down mercilessly across his back. John could feel the zigzagged pattern being drawn out on his flesh. He managed to keep himself quiet for another twenty blows before his silence gave way to whimpers and ten more for his whimpers to give way to yells. But he never begged; never gave Moran that satisfaction. Finally, after what seemed like hours, Sebastian stopped the beating, whip falling to the ground at his feet.

"Now for the main event," the man whispered darkly into John's ear. John could only moan low in his throat as pain shot through his body as Seb slowly twisted him around to face the other wall. John's head hung low in exhaustion as his captor spoke again.

"Do you know what they say about you, doctor?" Seb asked. "They say you can't live without danger and Sherlock Holmes. Well, I've given you danger. Now for Holmes." He grabbed a fistful of the army-doctor's blonde hair and forced the slumped head to look upwards at a rather large window. Through that window was the man that John had been longing to see since that fateful day. There, with his fist up against the glass and a desperate look on his face, was Sherlock Holmes.

SH….SH

Sherlock was nearly in a frenzy. He could clearly see John through the glass and could clearly see Sebastian stalking toward him, but he was helpless to stop the inevitable interaction that was to occur. He nearly jumped out of his skin when a speaker overhead amplified the conversation in the next room over. He heard Seb's mocking tone teasing John, and he could have laughed and cried at his friend's cheeky response. _Well done, John_ and _Don't push it, John_ floated through his mind simultaneously.

When the whip cracked down on John's back for the first time, Sherlock winced. He would have much rather have just taken a beating himself. Physical pain was easy for him to deal with; emotional pain was confusing and all together different. He already wanted it to end. And all the while his brain was moving a mile a minute trying to figure out a way to get John out of this mess. He was able to keep his mind going so long as John was quiet, but his mind seized up when his friend's bravado broke and the first whimper escaped from the ex-soldier's lips. His eyes snapped forward to find the culprit for making his usually proud and reserved and all-around strong friend _whimper_ like that. Blood was slowly oozing out of the doctor's abused back and the whip wasn't slowing. And even though John had his back to Sherlock, the detective could easily envision the look of anguish on the man's face. It made his insides squirm uncomfortably.

"John," Sherlock muttered.

The panic turned full stream when John's quiet complaints turned to shouts. It was like his brain couldn't focus on anything but the horrid sounds of leather meeting skin and John's pain-filled cries. It was not something Sherlock was accustomed to; not being able to think. He decided instantly that he didn't like it at all. Then, as if his body was acting on its own accord through his blind-panic, Sherlock moved toward the window. Terror, despair, and guilt caused him to reach out and claw desperately at the window to John's torture chamber.

_Please!_

He begged the deities he knew didn't exist. Anything to make it stop. And then, as suddenly as he had started, Seb dropped the whip and began spinning John around to face Sherlock's window. The blonde's head was dropped in exhaustion and defeat. But then, Seb was gripping his doctor's hair and forcing the man's gaze toward the window. Sherlock's hands stilled on the glass as John's eyes landed on him. Sherlock tried to convey how sorry he was in a gaze, but emotions were never his strong point. But John's eyes were absolutely flooded with emotions; too many to count. Confusion, pain, grief, betrayal, loss.

_ God, John! I'm sorry! Just don't look at me that way! It was necessary to keep you safe._

But then again, Sherlock supposed that in the long run, his absence had not kept his friend safe at all. In fact, it had ensured his capture and present situation. _Guilt. _Then, Seb was speaking again.

"You're dreams have come true, haven't they, Johnny?" the man sneered. "It's your lover, back from the dead! But how? How, John? Wait! Is he really there, John? Are you sure you're not seeing things? I could have easily slipped you a hallucinogenic drug. Are you hallucinating, John? Is he really there? Is it all in your head, or were you right all along and Sherlock Holmes never died at all? Which one is it, John?"

Sherlock pounded forcefully on the window. He wanted to show John that he was real and he was solid – solid enough to pound against the window.

_Don't listen to him, John! I AM here!_

"Well, I think I've had enough fun for today, John. I'll send someone by in a bit to clean you off," Sebastian informed his victim.

John just continued to stare at Sherlock as if waiting to see if the man would disappear. Sherlock just held his doctor's gaze. The door to John's cell slammed as Seb left the room.

"S-Sherlock?" John managed to croak out finally.

The detective nearly answered out loud before he remembered that John couldn't hear him, so instead he just nodded, never leaving the doctor's piercing blue stare.

The door to John's room opened again and two men with buckets of water came in. One of the men produced a sponge from his bucket and roughly dragged it across John's back, carelessly mopping up the wounds. John hissed through clenched teeth at the sudden pain. As soon as the man with the sponge was finished, the other dumped his entire bucket on John's back, rinsing off the residual blood. Sherlock could tell that the water was freezing by his friend's sharp intake of breath and the tensing of his muscles. With their tasks complete, the two men promptly left John alone, naked, and still chained.

It was then that Sherlock truly looked at his friend, aside from the man's face. He looked dreadful. He was thin, which meant he probably wasn't being fed correctly, not that Sherlock was surprised. He had bruises and cuts littering his body from past beatings. The area around his wrists and ankles were raw, red, and bleeding, indicating that the doctor had been chained up before and had struggled. Finally, Sherlock noticed that the man was shivering pitifully. Probably from a combination of the ice-like water that had been dumped on him only moments ago, the damp chill of the holding cell, and his emaciated form. Sherlock could kill Sebastian Moran.

The blonde continued to stare at him, Sherlock noticed when he finally brought his gaze back to John's face. There was still confusion in those watery depths, but the eye-lids were starting to droop from sheer exhaustion. Sherlock watched helplessly as his only friend fell into a restless sleep, while hanging naked from chains and shivering from the cold. The detective had imagined their reunion in a great number of ways (usually trying to think of ways to tell John that he had returned without the shorter man resorting to violence against him). How he wished this was _not _the way it had happened! The pain in those blue had been worse than any blow the man could have thrown at him. And he was powerless to do anything or say anything to ease that pain. He was stuck behind glass; a helpless observer. He could _kill _Sebastian Moran. He could kill him with his bare hands!

…

A/N: Thanks for reading guys! R&R please! I love any kind of feedback! I like hearing whether or not you are enjoying the story! Let me know! Thanks!


	3. From Bad to Worse

DISCLAIMER: Still belongs to the BBC last time I check, so not mine!

WARNING: THIS CHAPTER HAS VERY **VERY** GRAPHIC TORTURE SCENES IN IT! WILL CONTAIN RAPE! You have been warned! RATED M FOR A _**REASON!**_

Chapter Three: From Bad to Worse

John Watson wasn't sure when he had fallen asleep, but apparently he had. It had been a week since the day that Moran had forced a reunion upon the doctor and his detective, and the sessions were getting progressively worse. John was nearly sure that if he had to endure another beating, he might bleed out or die of contusions; because the sessions were not just mere whippings. Some days he was whipped others he had to withstand blows from a fist or even kicks. A few days ago, Moran had called in about twenty of his men and each of them was allowed one blow each; as hard as they wanted and anywhere on his body. Afterwards, Seb had taken the pleasure of chaining him to the wall and beating him senseless with a set of brass knuckles.

He was only allowed to see Sherlock during a beating and briefly after. When the beating was over the window would be covered by the sliding stone wall and John would be left wondering if he actually saw the man or not. Seb had been right when he had told John that it would be easy enough to slip him some sort of drug and since John was constantly slipping in and out of consciousness he wasn't sure what to believe. But he _wanted _to believe that Sherlock really was there because if anyone could get them out of this nightmare, it was Sherlock Holmes. And that thought gave him hope to cling to; a reason to hang on.

John did wish that he could at least hear Sherlock. He was quite certain that if he could just hear the man speak he would be able to tell if he was actually talking to the detective. No one spoke quite like Sherlock Holmes.

John was startled out of his musings as the wall across from him slid open revealing the window to his best friend. So it was time for another session. John's heart jolted when he saw the state that the man was in. Sherlock was completely panicked, frantically beating and clawing at the window between them. John had never seen him like this before. Sometimes the man would get slightly desperate when a beating got so bad that John was crying out, but never had he been this worked up _before _a session. And the man wasn't just worked up; he was near hysterics. A sense of dread washed over John at what was to come. The door to his room opened and his tormentor strutted into the cell.

"Hello, John," Seb greeted. "Don't mind your master in there, pet. He's just been informed of my plans for our sessions today. And you know how possessive he can be. He doesn't really like my plan of action, but he'll just have to endure, won't he, love?"

John flicked his eyes toward Sherlock. The man was still in a frenzy. What on Earth did Sebastian have planned to make Sherlock react in such a way?

"Shall we get started, John?" Seb asked. "I'm going to let you down and you're going to sit with me."

Three men walked in just then and set up a small table and two chairs. The furniture was arranged and then the helpers hurried out of the room.

"Better brace yourself, John," Seb suggested as he moved to unchain the doctor's hands. The lock clicked and John Watson crumbled to the floor in an indelicate heap. His legs were too weak and shaky to support his weight. Sebastian Moran rolled his eyes and mocked, "Poor, little John Watson. Can't even walk himself to a chair."

Moran lifted John from under the armpits. "Up you get, you great, useless thing," he huffed out. He helped John to a chair and sat him in it. He then proceeded to strap restraints around the weakened doctor's naked body and sat in the chair opposite him.

"Okay, John," Seb smirked. "We are ready to begin part one of today's sessions. I'm just going to ask you some questions and you are going to answer honestly and completely, understand?"

John's brain was reeling so he did not answer straight away.

_SMACK!_

He was slapped across the face, hard.

"I said _do you understand_, John?" Sebastian demanded.

"Y-yes," John rasped.

"Good," Seb smiled sadistically. "We'll start simple. How are you, John?"

"I-I've been better," John replied. Was the man being serious? How did he _think_ he was?

"So you're not enjoying my… Hospitality?"

"Not particularly," John managed. He knew he was being cheeky, but the man _had _said to answer truthfully.

"I see," Seb chuckled. "Tell me how you feel about Sherlock Holmes watching your tortures."

John's eyes flashed over to the detective, who had stopped his frantic actions and had instead taken to standing with a defeated, yet desperate look in his eyes. _I don't like it one bit, you fucking bastard._ "I don't know," John said.

_SMACK!_

A riding crop came slashing across his face. He hissed in pain and surprise.

"Liar," Seb informed him. "You know exactly how you feel. Tell the truth!"

"O-okay, well," John started, warily eyeing the sadistic man before him. "I suppose I don't like it at all."

"Why?"

"Because I don't like – " John paused.

"Go on," Seb dragged the whip along John's jaw, caressing his cheek.

"I don't like him seeing me like this," John finished quietly.

"Like what, John?"

"… Weak," John croaked out.

"Why?" Seb asked again. "Why don't you want him to see you that way?"

_Because I want to be strong for him._ "It's embarrassing," John told him; not exactly a lie.

_SMACK!_

It was just a hand slapping him this time.

"That wasn't the whole truth, John. You do find it embarrassing, but that's not really the reason, is it? Why don't you like it when Sherlock sees you like this?"

"I-I don't like him watching because – "

"Think, John, really think," Seb warned. "Dig deep."

"Well, because I… because I care about him and I don't want to let him down," John said briefly catching the detective's eye, before blushing crimson and looking away. Emotional talks like this were not really something he and Sherlock shared. It was a bit embarrassing.

"Very good, John," Seb smiled his cunning smile. "We're done with questions. I'm going to explain some things to you."

"O-okay?" John was confused. First the therapy session and now the man was going to have a heart to heart? What in the world was going on?

"I want you to know exactly why I am torturing you," Seb began. "You see, I honestly don't have anything against you, John. You and I were very much alike."

John highly doubted that.

"I can tell by the look of revulsion in your eyes that you do not agree, but trust me when I say, I was just like you once. I was in the army and discharged, same as you. When I first joined back into civilian life I was bored out of my mind, quite literally. I thought I was going to go mad. I needed danger, just like you, John. And I met someone; someone a lot like your lover in there. This someone brought me excitement and he brought me purpose. But now, thanks to your detective, I have had my companion ripped away from me. You see, John, I'm not torturing you, not really. I'm torturing him."

"S-Sherlock?" John's bright blue eyes met the detective's unique pale green stare.

"I know," Seb continued. "That it seems to the entire world that Sherlock Holmes has no heart; he is free of all sentiment. But you know what, John. That's not entirely true. Sherlock doesn't have sentiment for anyone else but you, John. But he does have sentiment. He is not immune. Did you know that whenever I started all of this, the first time he saw you chained up, he instantly offered to do anything I wanted. I realized in that moment that I finally had a way to extract my revenge on Sherlock Holmes. You, John Watson, _you._"

"So, why don't you just kill me?" John asked.

"All in good time, doctor. I will eventually kill you, John. But in order to truly destroy Sherlock Holmes, first I have to break you. Completely."

"Break me?" John shivered involuntarily. He didn't like the sound of that.

"Yes, Dr. Watson," Seb whispered, darkly. He moved behind John and began running his hands down John's bare chest. The doctor jerked in his restraints, but it was no use. Seb tilted his head down and sucked John's earlobe into his mouth. John struggled.

"S-Stop!" he cried out. And, surprisingly, Moran released his ear.

"Until later, John," Seb muttered in his ear.

Moran straightened himself and walked around John, as the blonde tried to get his heart to calm down.

"I'm to let you roam today. You'll be free to walk around your cell, nowhere else, of course. But I want those legs working again by later today." Sebastian winked and undid the restraints binding John. The doctor watched as the man left his room.

He truly wished he was allowed to have some clothes, especially after Seb's little display moments ago. He had said later today. That was odd; he never had more than one session a day. A bang on the window across the room startled him from his thoughts. He shakily got to his feet. His legs felt like goo from lack of use, but he managed to make his way to the window. The pane stopped at his waist, which made him feel slightly better about being stark naked in front of the fully clothed Sherlock Holmes. He knew it was silly, since the man had clearly seen his nakedness during the countless beatings Sherlock had been forced to watch, but John was still embarrassed.

He looked up into the man's eye. Up close, the emotions were clearly visible, and John was a little taken aback. It was strange to see the usually stoic Sherlock Holmes this way. The detective gave a watery smile and said the doctor's name. Of course John couldn't hear the syllable, but it was easy enough to read the man's lips.

"Can you hear me?" John asked out loud. Sherlock nodded. "But I can't hear you…" Sherlock shook his head. "Why?"

At this, the detective paused and thought for a moment. It was clear the man knew the answer. He was just trying to figure out the best way to convey the words without speech. He settled for tapping his head twice with his finger.

"He… wants to… mess with my mind?" John deduced and received an almost proud look and a curt nod. "He wants me to think that I'm crazy… but why?"

Sherlock was in the middle of figuring out how to respond, when the window began to close up. Both men looked at each other, panicked. In the last moments they had together Sherlock mouthed "I'm sorry." And then John was alone. He paced the wall for a while before deciding that this may be the last time he got to sleep laying down and somewhat comfortably. So, he curled up in the corner and drifted off to sleep.

When he came around again, he sat up and noticed he was still alone and he had no idea how long he had been asleep. He stood and started rutting around his tiny room, looking for any way out. His efforts were fruitless; he found nothing. Then suddenly, after hours of idly wandering his cell, the door opened and Seb walked in. He stalked quickly to John, causing the man to back up a pace into the wall.

"Let the fun begin," Seb murmured before backhanding John about the face and sending his head flying into the wall behind him. His world went black.

John groaned. His head was killing him. In his hazy state he recognized the he had a concussion, mild, but still present. He blinked back the stars in his vision and looked around. He was on a mattress that had been pushed up against the wall. It wasn't very big, twin sized by the look of it, but it still nearly took up the entire length of the room. There was only about enough distance around the thing for a person to walk comfortably. His wrists were bound above his head and chained to the wall. His ankles were also bound, about shoulder length apart by chains that came from the floor. He craned his neck to find that Sherlock's window was open again and his friend was near tears in his desperation this time. John did not like the look of this.

"Ah, you're awake," came a voice from the door. Sebastian Moran was leaning against the door frame. He was wearing a silk bath robe and held his ever-trusty riding crop in his hands. "I _told_ you, John. I'm going to break you."

John's breath caught and he struggled frantically against his bonds._ This was NOT happening. Not this!_

"Stop!" Sebastian's voice pierced the air almost as harshly as the whip that was slashed across John's chest. John gasped. "You are to stay still, John. If you don't I'll have to punish you."

John's eyes widened as they fell on the riding crop in Moran's hands.

"Now," Seb began. "You are going to be on your best behavior now, aren't you?" He trailed the whip along John's sides. John nodded slowly, through the haze in his mind. He was trying to wrap his mind around exactly what was coming.

_CRACK!_

"Verbal answers are the only thing I will accept. And you are to answer with either: 'yes, sir' or 'no, sir.' Do you understand?"

"Y-yes, sir," John stammered.

"Very good, little soldier," Seb praised, royally pissing John off. He ran the whip across John's cheek. "Now, I'm going to give you a little dose of pain, during which time, you are not to make a sound, understand?"

"Yes… _sir,_" he spat the last word, defiance rising up inside him. He was not going to take this, NOT this.

"Watch your tone, soldier," Seb warned. "I'd hate to have to punish you this early on." He dragged the riding crop down John's body until he reached the man's feet. "We'll start here. Remember, not a sound."

He began lightly tapping the bottom of John's feet, before viciously bringing the whip down on them. John bit his lip to keep from crying out and Moran kept on.

_Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, CRACK!_

_Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, CRACK!_

On and on it went until John couldn't take it anymore. He gasped and groaned. Sebastian's eyes snapped up. He was severely angry.

"You obviously want that punishment, John!" he snapped cruelly. "I believe I ordered you not to make a sound, soldier. Was that order in any way unclear?"

"No. Sir." John answered through clenched teeth. The whip suddenly struck his cheek forcefully. John could taste blood.

"I also warned you about your tone! Don't test me!" The leather of the whip rested on John's most sensitive area and his eyes widened as he realized what his punishment was going to be. "Punishments are a bit different. You are allowed to cry out, as I love to hear your pain when you clearly deserve it. Also, you are to count each stroke out loud and when it's over, you are to thank me. Do you understand, soldier?"

"Yes, sir," John regulated his tone that time, but it came out a little breathily in the anxiety of the pain awaiting him. Moran had never struck him like this.

"You were only going to get three, but I'm adding two more for your cheek."

_Swish. CRACK!_

John did not just cry out. He screamed. It was the most painful thing he had ever experienced. Somehow he was able to remember to count. "O-one."

_Swish. CRACK!_

"AH! Two!"

By the fifth blow, John was sobbing. His voice rang out with the final count and he shakily said, "T-thank you, s-sir." Sweat was running down his face, making his hair stick to his forehead.

"Very good, soldier," Seb praised. "Let us continue."

Sebastian beat every inch of John's body methodically. He moved from feet to legs to stomach to arms. Then, after releasing his ankles, he flipped John over and laid into his legs, arse, and back. But to his credit, John did not earn himself another punishment. Suddenly, Sebastian dropped the riding crop.

"We've had our dose of pain. Now it's time for pleasure." He flipped John back over to his back, smirking cruelly as John's abused skin came into contact with the mattress. He straddled John before the man knew what was happening. As soon as he did, however, he began thrashing wildly. Seb held him down.

"You can't beat me, John," he explained. "I've kept you weakened for a reason. You won't be able to throw me, John."

"N-No! Stop!"John shouted. He was slapped hard about the face, momentarily dazed. Seb cocked his head over his shoulder to look at Sherlock, whom John had nearly forgotten was watching. His insides squirmed at the realization that his best friend was forced to watch while he was raped. It also hit him that, in this form of sex, he was a virgin. _Dear God!_

"Are you ready to watch me strip the virginity from your lover, Holmes?" Seb asked smirking, as if reading John's mind. Sherlock responded by furiously punching the window separating them, animalistic rage absolutely present in his eyes.

John kicked and fought and spat and bit and screamed, but nothing stopped Moran from spreading the blondes legs and positioning himself. "I am not going to be gentle. I am going to rip you apart, John Watson, and I'm going to fuck you into this mattress. And you are going to watch your detective over my shoulder; watch him suffer as I pound into you."

And that's when John Watson did something he never had before. He begged.

"P-Please!" he choked. "D-Don't! Please! I'll do anything, just please don't! Please – AH!"

Seb hadn't been lying when he said he would rip him. The burning pain was excruciating and all-encompassing. And he screamed and begged and sobbed.

"Nn… Watch. Your. Lover. John." Seb ordered. "Watch this destroy him. Do it, now, or I'll fold you in half and fuck you so hard you'll forget your name."

John shuddered, but obeyed. His eyes landed on Sherlock and he saw something he had never seen before. Sherlock Holmes was crying; _really_ crying. John had seen the man shed a single tear once or twice, but not like this. The man was weeping and clawing at the window. John tried to stifle his screams for his friend, but then Moran was pushing deeper and harder and John could no longer hold his yells.

And then, as quickly as it began, it was over. With a shuddering breath, Seb emptied himself inside the doctor before roughly yanking out of him, causing John to yelp.

"That was fun," Seb informed a still sobbing John as he stood up. "You're a pretty good lay, John. Nice and tight. You should get yourself cleaned up. Sherlock is watching, after all. I'm sure he doesn't appreciate my cum running out of you like I do." With that Sebastian left the room

John did not clean himself up. The pain overrode any sense of self-image he could possibly have had. He curled up on his side, facing the window to Sherlock and sobbed as he watched his friend mouth "I'm sorry" over and over again, before finally surrendering to the sweet sanctuary of the darkness in his mind.

A/N: REALLY LONG CHAPTER! Let me know what you think! R&R! Thanks!


	4. Memory Lane

DISCLAIMER: I DOES NOT OWN!

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry for the wait guys! But here you go! Chapter four! This is Sherlock's point of view of the last chapter! WARNING: There is TORTURE, RAPE, mentions of PAST RAPE, and all around icky-ness. Oh and a hella bunch of ANGST! Don't like, please do not read!

Chapter Four: Memory Lane

The week following his capture was one of the worst that Sherlock Holmes had ever experienced. Moran had become increasingly twisted in his torture sessions with John. He was beyond cruel and Sherlock watched as his friend was continually weakened from one day to the next. It was obvious that Moran had something planned; something worse than anything he had done so far. That's why he was weakening John's body. He didn't want John to be able to fight. Sherlock had an inkling of exactly what Moran was preparing for, but he pushed it out of his mind. He had to focus on finding a way out of this Hell.

That's what Sherlock did in the time that Moran wasn't forcing him to watch as John was repeatedly beaten. During the sessions themselves, Sherlock found that his mind froze. Sometimes his mind would flicker briefly to his childhood and his father's drunken boughts of rage, while his mother's back was turned. When this happened, he forcibly shook the images away; he had buried those a long time ago. So, most of the time, his mind would lock onto John's battered and bruised body and painful cries. He never would have guessed that John's pain would affect him so. It wasn't as if he was a particularly empathetic person. He constantly told anyone who would listen that caring for someone won't help you save them. But as Moran's riding crop or fists or feet came down on his best friend, Sherlock was finding it hard to remember his own motto, only to berate himself when the torture was over.

He was also becoming increasingly frustrated. He was obviously frustrated at Moran. The man was down-right infuriating. Sherlock was quite certain that he had never wanted to hurt anyone as badly as he wanted to completely pulverize Sebastian Moran. He was frustrated with himself for not being able to come up with a plan of action. Every plan he started would end up being blocked somehow by Moran. It was maddening. And finally, he was frustrated with Mycroft. Didn't the man realize something was wrong?

Sherlock had contacted his brother just over a year ago to inform him that he was, in fact, alive. Mycroft had been furious, of course, but in the end he understood his little brother's reasoning. The eldest Holmes brother had insisted that Sherlock send him a message once a week, so he could be sure of his safety. Sherlock had fought, but reluctantly agreed when Mycroft threatened to tell John that the detective was only faking.

However, the contact with his brother had proved useful when Sherlock could no longer keep tabs on John personally. He went directly to his brother and made the older man promise to watch John and make sure he was safe. Only then did he leave John without his protection. So, where _was _Mycroft? How did he allow John to get taken? Why hadn't the man come to find them? Sherlock hadn't texted him in _well_ over a week! What good was his brother's government position, if it didn't get them out of trouble? His thoughts were broken when Moran casually strolled into the room.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Holmes," Seb greeted pleasantly. "How are we feeling today? Still trying to find a way out?"

Sherlock pointedly turned away from the man and glared at the wall.

"I would tell you that your efforts are futile and all of that, but I rather enjoy watching you struggle to no avail."

"What _exactly_ do you want, Sebastian?" Sherlock ground out.

"Oh, I just like annoying you," he responded, smiling brightly. "But since I'm here, I thought I might tell you what I have in store for your lovely doctor today."

Well, _that_ was new. Seb had never told Sherlock what he was going to do to John before. He enjoyed the element of surprise, or shock, in case. "Why?"

"I thought you would be interested, since it will probably be a little bit difficult to… handle, I suppose. I figured you would like a like a little bit of a warning."

"Why now?"

"Well, because it's about to get a little graphic, Sherlock," Seb spoke as if he were talking to a small child.

"It has been _thoroughly_ graphic, already," Sherlock snapped. "Why now?"

"Oh what you have seen thus far is child's play compared to what will happen today, trust me."

Sherlock's heart pounded a little harder at hearing that.

"Would you like to hear my plan?"

Sherlock decided that the only thing worse than hearing the plan would be to _not _hear it, so he replied with a soft, "Yes."

Seb smirked. "So predictable. You just _have_ to know, don't you?" 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and clenched his jaw. This man was seriously pissing him off.

"I plan to break John Watson today," Seb said bluntly.

"Break him?" Sherlock scoffed. "Break him how?"

"Oh, I think you know," Moran said with an odd gleam in his eyes.

"I don't," Sherlock informed him. "He will not be an easy person to break. He is strong. Military. Explain how you think you can break him in a single session of torture."

"That's right," Seb sneered. "I forgot who I was talking to. The Virgin. This is a foreign concept to you."

That's when it clicked into place. He had been pushing this thought out of his head. Denial. No, he couldn't do that. _Not _that. Not to John. The man was emotionally driven. This wouldn't break him. This would _kill _him. "No."

"No?" Seb chuckled. "I'm afraid I wasn't asking your permission, Sherlock. I am going to take your lover's virginity right in front of you."

"John's not a virgin," Sherlock muttered, absently. He knew it was irrelevant, but it just seemed to spew forth through the haze that had taken over his mind.

"In this sense, he is." Sebastian told him. "Your soldier has never been with a man, Sherlock. Never had a man take him. I know you wanted to have this honor. You wanted to be the first to take him. But, you know what they say, 'you snooze, you lose.'"

Fury overtook Sherlock like a tidal wave and he threw himself at Moran and slammed the bastard against the wall. "You. Will. Not. Lay. A. Finger. On. Him." Sherlock growled. He couldn't remember a time when he had been so angry; not even when that idiotic American had held Mrs. Hudson at gunpoint. This was different; all encompassing.

"Such a temper," Seb tsked. "I would hate to have your little pet killed for something like this, wouldn't you?"

Sherlock released Moran with a viscous snarl. Seb smirked and headed for the door.

"Getting angry doesn't help you _or_ him, Sherlock," the man threw over his shoulder. "No matter how angry you get, I am _still_ going to pound your lover's arse, and you will be able to do _nothing_, but watch." With that, he stalked out of the room and slammed the door behind him. _Caring for him won't save him._

Rage coursed through his veins as Sherlock paced the cell. _Damn him!_ He let out a howl of fury, before anger left him in a rush, only to be replaced by sheer terror. _John!_ He had to get the doctor out of this mess! The window to John's room began to appear and Sherlock all but threw himself at it to get to the man. He saw John look up at him in confusion. _His _John!

He wasn't entirely sure when the ex-army doctor had become his, but he was suddenly extremely possessive of the man. He was his only friend. The one who stayed by him through _everything._ The one who had stood up for him, killed for him, and fought for him. He couldn't let this happen. Not to _John_. He didn't deserve this! He was so good and kind! Why him? Stop! _Stop!_

Those were the only words that were going through his mind as the blinding fear tore through him and Sebastian Moran took a seat across from the weak, naked, and bonded John and began speaking.

The words sounded garbled to Sherlock. As if they were said underwater. _Run, John! Fight, John! Stop answering his questions! He's toying with you! Please! No! No! __**FOCUS!**_

Sherlock blinked his eyes tightly a few times, like he used to after a bad trip on cocaine. He tried to get his bearings. He stopped his hysterical movements against the glass separating him from John. _Regain control. Breathe. Focus. Where the FUCK was Mycroft!_

His thoughts turned murderous again as he watched Moran run his hands down John's bared chest and suck the doctor's ear. Seb caught his eye and smirked.

"S-stop!" John ordered, frantically. And with a cruel smile, Seb moved away from John, promising more later. The doctor was released from his restraints and Seb left the room. John stared after his tormentor and Sherlock banged against the window to get his attention.

John shakily got to his feet and gingerly made his way toward Sherlock. The detective could tell by the slight blush on the doctor's body that the man was embarrassed by his lack of dress. But Sherlock couldn't bring himself to care. He felt several emotions well up inside him all at once. Relief. Sadness. Dread. He could tell John was little startled to see so many emotions that were, no doubt, showing in his eyes. He smiled helplessly at the man and a soft, "John," escaped his lips.

"Can you hear me?" John asked.

Sherlock nodded, knowing full well that John could not hear him if he were to speak.

"But I can't hear you," John said. It wasn't a question, but Sherlock shook his head anyway. "Why?"

_Because he wants you to think you're crazy ._Sherlock thought with all his might. How could he tell him? He settled for giving the man a significant look and tapping his head lightly.

"He wants to mess with my mind?" John's answer was hesitant, but he had gotten it right. The detective was proud of how far John had come in his ability to read Sherlock's intentions in simple movements. He nodded once. "He wants me to think I'm crazy… but why?"

Sherlock knew the answer to that too, but it was a bit trickier to convey than the last. _You're easier to break if you are confused and questioning your reality. _Before he could find a way to tell him, the window began to close. He caught John's eyes. He looked as desperate as Sherlock felt. In their last seconds Sherlock mouth "I'm sorry," to his doctor. _I'm sorry for everything, John._

For the next few hours, Sherlock battled his absolute terror of what was to become of his best friend. But he also struggled to keep himself in the present. His childhood kept creeping into his thoughts. _Because you know a lot more about rape than Moran realizes, don't you?_ Mocked a voice in his head. The ghosting of hands on his flesh. The torturous feeling of breath teasing him in his ear. _Weak. Pansy, Gay. Faggot. Freak._ Sherlock shook himself. _Stop it! You buried those a long time ago._

Suddenly, after what felt like centuries the window to John was revealed again and Sherlock saw the one thing he feared the most in the world, and he hadn't even been aware that he was scared of it was in front of him. John – _his _John – was lying naked on a tattered mattress unconscious and helpless. _Dear God! No!_ He was horrified to find that tears had sprung to his eyes. His body was betraying him again; his desperation taking physical form in the salt water forming in his tear ducts.

He watched as John stirred and took in his surroundings. He watched as his, usually stoic, doctor panicked. Their eyes met and Sherlock was sure that his expression did not help to soothe his friend's terror.

When Moran entered the room in just a silk bathrobe and holding a riding crop, Sherlock thought he might be sick. And his heart stopped as he watched John struggle as the doctor finally understood what was going to happen to him. His heart then broke as the whip cracked down on the soldier's skin, and John was forced into obedience. At every strike to his friend's flesh, Sherlock flinched. Moran was merciless and John was denied his voice. And when John was "punished" (as if his torture wasn't bad enough), Sherlock finally understood the meaning of sympathy tears. They leaked down the sides of his face as John's cries echoed through the cell. It was a sound that Sherlock was sure was going to haunt him for the rest of his life.

But absolutely nothing prepared him for when Moran announced that it was time for "pleasure." Sherlock heard a sound that he never thought he would never hear. John begged. And that sound sent his mind years in the past.

_ "Please," he begged. "Please, don't!"_

_ "Shut up, you ungrateful little freak!" the man above him snapped._

_ Hot breath teased his ear and mocked his pain. And pain was definitely prominent. His small body shivered in disgust as the hard length pushed inside him. Ripping him viciously. The man did not slow his pace as he ploughed into the younger body._

_ Then, a snaked around his body and took a hold of his smaller, virgin member and began to force an orgasm out of the pre-pubescent organ. And Sherlock sobbed. It was in that moment that Sherlock decided that touch was _not_ to be desired. Not now, not ever. And as the ejaculation was forced from his body, Sherlock released any and all emotions. And when his father emptied himself inside his body, he was filled with loathing for humanity and cynicism toward the future. _

Sherlock was jerked violently from his past and was horrified that tears were again running freely down his cheeks. He looked at John, who was trying desperately to hold back his yells. Finally, the army doctor could take no more and he screamed in desperation. _I'm sorry, John! I'm so sorry!_

When it was all over, Sherlock could not take his eyes off of his broken doctor as the mand curled into himself. They were broken together.

A/N: Sorry again for the wait! Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it! Please R&R if you have the time! I LOVE the feedback!


	5. Losing Hope and a Rescue

DISCLAIMER: I still don't own this!

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry for the wait on this chapter! Had a bit of writer's block but I'm over it now! Hope you enjoy the chapter! WARNINGS: RAPE, TORTURE, ANGST, ec. Honestly if my past chapters are anything to go by, you know what to expect!

Chapter Five: Losing Hope and a Rescue

In the Greek myth of Pandora and her jar, Pandora is said to have released everything from her little jar, everything, that is, except Hope. It was said that as long as a person still had hope, all was not lost. All you need is a little hope and you can make it through even the most difficult of situations. However, once hope was lost, you have nothing. No light to guide you in the dark. And you lose the will to fight; to live.

John didn't know how much more he could take before he completely cracked. Since the original rape, three days ago, Seb had taken his pleasure from John's body at least once every day, sometimes twice. The sadistic man made sure that John was thoroughly humiliated each time. The last time he had taken the doctor on his hands and knees, while forcing the man to look at his best friend the entire session. And if that wasn't enough, he had to tell Sherlock that he enjoyed every second of it, because he was a whore. Immediately after the session, the window to Sherlock's room closed, meaning he wasn't even allowed to speak to his detective.

After every encounter with Seb, John wept. He wished desperately that he was strong enough not to, but he couldn't hold back the broken sobs that wracked his body every time. He felt weak, pathetic, worthless. He was a soldier. How could he let Moran use him this way? He should be able to fight back. _I am such a coward._ He couldn't even defend himself, and he hated it. He hated Moran, but he hated himself more.

"Hello!" Seb sang out as he strutted into the room, wearing that horrid robe. "How are we today, love?"

John shivered in disgust, but said nothing.

"Aw! Don't want to chat?" Seb mocked in his sickening sweet voice. "Alright then, we'll get straight to business!" He snatched John up by his hair and tossed him onto his belly. And then, like a cat, Seb stretched out along the contours of John's back side, grinding his hips into the naked doctor beneath him. "I'm going to mark you as mine today," Moran hissed in his ear.

Just then, Sherlock's window was revealed and Sherlock, who was sitting against a wall, sprang to his feet and rushed to the glass. A panicked, worried expression passed over the sleuth's face as he gazed at his helpless friend and cursed Mycroft for the umpth time. John looked at his friend desperately for a moment before his head was wrenched back toward his captor.

"Okay, Johnny," Seb growled. "Time for some pain."

A sharp knife was suddenly piercing into the doctor's upper back, carving. John let out a yelp of surprised pain. He gritted his teeth as he felt blood beginning to ooze out of the cuts and slide down his shoulders to the mattress beneath him. On and on it went. John gave up his silence for screams as the blade dug into his flesh. Finally, when the ex-soldier thought he might actually die from the pain, Seb stopped.

"Mmm," he purred. "Delicious. Would you like to see what I've marked you as?" Seb brought John's weakened body toward the glass of Sherlock's window and procured a hand mirror from the pocket of his robe. He angled the looking glass toward John's abused shoulders. In the reflection of the glass, John saw the despicable word that was carved in his flesh in angry red letters. That one word made him choke on a sob of ultimate humiliation. He was to be branded henceforth with this word. Bile rose in his throat and he dry heaved at the ugly sight before him. That horridly ugly word.

_WHORE_

He looked away and Seb laughed at him. "You can't deny that's what you are, Dr. Watson. At least to me. You are nothing but a dirty little whore. A toy. A play thing. _Nothing_ else! Just a worthless, pathetic whore."

A bang on the glass turned John's attention toward Sherlock. The man looked murderous. His eyes alone said, quite plainly, "If I ever get out of here I will take great pleasure in ripping you to shreds!"

"Let's have some fun," Moran muttered seductively in John's ear, before slamming body against the window, face pressed violently against the only thing keeping him from Sherlock's horrified gaze. "Mmm… I like having you on display."

With that, Sebastian spread the doctor's legs and fucked him roughly into the glass. And again John Watson yelled, screamed, begged, and eventually wept. His mind was slipping from him. His bleeding back was stinging painfully, but it was numbed by the excruciating pain of the hard cock that was violently shoving into him. Tears streamed down his face as he clawed desperately at the glass. With nothing to brace himself on, he was losing hope, fast. Franticly seeking some sort of anchor, he looked up at his flat mate.

Sherlock had tears leaking from his eyes as well. "I will get us out of this! I promise!" the detective mouthed. He had told John this before, in their after torture meetings. The last thing he saw before giving into the darkness and passing out from the pain, was Sherlock mouthing, "I'm sorry."

Sherlock watched as his doctor lost consciousness. Moran continued to pound into him mercilessly, regardless. Seb had kept his eyes trained on Sherlock the entire time, something the detective had not failed to notice. The sick bastard got off on the fact that he was doing all of this in front of the detective. Finally, Sebastian climaxed and pulled out of John, dropping the man in a heap on the floor.

"You shouldn't lie to him like that, Sherlock," Seb said, wiping himself off on his robe. "You aren't going to be able to save him, and to tell him otherwise is just giving him false hope."

Sherlock merely glared as the window John's room began to close. In frustration, he reared back and punched the glass before it disappeared behind it sheath. He howled in both rage and pain as his hand throbbed.

H e began to pace. It was something he did fairly regularly in the god forsaken cell. He couldn't get the horrible sight of that terrible word carved in his friend's back or the look of lost hope in his doctor's eyes as Seb had fucked him against the window. He paced for hours thinking up ways to escape. John didn't have much time before he gave up on fighting completely. He was reaching his limit, and Sherlock could see it. He paced until he couldn't pace any longer. He sat down, heavily, against the wall and tried to think. But his mind had gone numb and it wasn't long before he started to doze.

_Bang! Bang!_

Sherlock jerked out of his comatose state and jumped to his feet. Gunshots. He stayed quiet and still for a moment, simply listening. Suddenly, the door to his cell was kicked in and in came Detective Inspector Lestraude.

"Sherlock!" the man cried. "Thank God! Are you alright?"

"Where's John?" Sherlock demanded. It was all he could think to say.

"John? John Watson?"Lestraude asked, confused. "Well, I don't really know, Sherlock. Home I expect…"

"No," Sherlock muttered, rushing passed the DI.

"Sherlock!" Lestraude called after him, before following.

Sherlock came to the door next to his. John's door. It was locked. He set about breaking it down. He slammed his body into the door, adrenaline dictating his actions. He vaguely heard Lestraude calling his name as he slammed into the door again and again, until finally he broke through. There on a soiled mattress lay his John; his battered, abused, used, and bleeding John. He rushed forward.

"Jesus Christ!" he heard Lestaude cry from the doorway. "It's John. Shit. Get the paramedics in here!"

But Sherlock only had eyes for the ex-army doctor. He took off his blazer jacket and wrapped it around the shivering figure as he gathered the man into his arms. It was not a very characteristic thing for him to do, he was aware, but at the present time he couldn't bear to not have John as close to him as possible, assuring that he was safe and alive.

"S-Sherlock?"John croaked, his eyelids fluttering open blearily.

"Sh…" Sherlock soothed. "It's okay. We're okay. It's over. I told you I'd get us out. I promised. I promised I'd get you out." He gripped the doctor tighter to him.

"You're r-real," John murmured.

"Yes," Sherlock confirmed. "I'm real. I'm here and you're safe. We're going home. It's over."

A/N: Well I hope you guys liked it! Next chapter will be the start of the healing… it will be full of angst and hurt/comfort! Until next time! R&E Please! :3


End file.
